Woebegone
by ImparedImpala
Summary: A Duration of time can make one's life heavy with sorrow. Three years have passed and John Watson realized that he was purely and utterly in love with Sherlock Holmes.


Eloquence was a perfect word to describe Sherlock Holmes.

Though, Sherlock kept him from being alone, and alone is not what he wanted at all or ever. John remembered the times, those three excruciating years that tormented him to no end. The army man was very lassitude with every action he talked about or even looked at. Simple things, such simple entries reminded the diminished man of _him_. Eyes would gaze upon a stranger and he could hear his baritone words flow from the thin air like a natural wisp of unfortunate catarrh. Murmuring into his ear, telling him the facts that he didn't want to know, forms of words sashayed in his mind as if he was there. Those days when he spoke, he never really paid full on attention to him, regrets filled his innards and churned to a beat that displayed guilt. It felt truly sickening to the thought. Days turned to weeks; weeks turned to months and soon on months turned to years. John wasn't surprised if it would transform into decades at the rate he was going. The Reichenbach Falls broke Sherlock, though the shards hit John as well as the man with hair as dark as dusk, his friend and companion fractured upon the pavement a crack radiating throughout the streets and what seemed to be over all other noises.

John could easily imagine the sight and horror of the crimson colour that trailed along the stone like flowing rivers. The smell, it hit his nostrils even now when it was washed away by desperate rain fall. All through him, the metallic stench that wafted among the air that day. It made him sick, clenching his stomach; the sight was like a photograph still playing amongst his mind.

He waited for so long, the pain growing inside his chest, almost demanding to be burst out. There, John Watson realized that he was purely and utterly in love with Sherlock Holmes.

John actually regretted things he said, his last words to Sherlock. "You machine." It haunted him and he wished he could have said something else. Maybe he could have helped Sherlock out, to not do it.

He visited Sherlock's grave more and more often as the time passed, flowers bloomed around the tombstone it's colour as dark as ebony shadows, a penumbra. Then, after three years. Three years of thoughts about him and the attempt of moving on. One night, Sherlock returned. The morning rolled on by and on the table laid a single cup. The warm steam prancing up into the air and the smell filled the room. A hum rolled out from the living area, the familiar sound made him jump, his heart pumping loudly through his ears. His feet finally moved in quick pace as he traveled to the archway and his eyes were transfixed upon one single thing that was pure gold to him during this moment. There he was, his black silhouette shinning being outlined by the brightness of the new day. Everything was in perfect place like he remembered from that day. The atmosphere was simply bucolic, it was perfect.

John gazed never left him as he dropped his instrument and turned around his chatoyant eyes beaming and burrowing in his azure like pair. John's heart pumped, a sickening feeling plummeting into his stomach as his supposed dead friend stood in front of him. His mouth opened, though no words seemed to escape only a soft cry. He closed it in a quick manner as he covered his mouth with a single hand. Breathing through his nose in quick breaths he still stared off at Sherlock. Neither stated a word, or even an action the two just seemed to express with each other.

John shakily took a deep and needed breath as he removed his hand.

Word fell from his lips but it seemed like the world went mute oddly. Those simple words, only them brought John to reality that Sherlock, his Sherlock was most likely back. Only that brought the tears on. After so long, John was able to cry for him. The tears flowed silently and trickled down his cheeks, droplets falling onto the floor. A real smile moved onto his face as he moved forward. John didn't speak any words and only grabbed at the lanky male and embraced him. The action made Sherlock gasp, the shorter blond burying his face into Sherlock's chest and sighing audibly.

Sherlock glanced down at him, blinking several times as John clamped onto him. Said situation and even the reunion of the two, resulted in being unexpected. The results were extremely irrelevant and different from what he would have expected. Gulping nervously, Sherlock wearily placed his hands onto John's back and patted him. Such small gestures actually did mean much for a cold man such as him. Nobody seen him like this, he never actually attempted in any sort of way to show comfort.

A large intake of breath was inhaled. A shaky breath of relief filled both of them as they both, Sherlock Holmes and John Watson were brought back together. Sherlock definitely needed his blogger and John needed the friendship and companionship from the other.

He was home and he was for once glad to be.

John finally looked up at him, eyes just the slightest hint of red and drying tears staining his face. Of course, John tried his best to display a hold on his emotions, though Sherlock could easily see through that. A saddened smile hidden upon his features.

In that moment. Sherlock for the first time ever, felt like he was home.

Both men met eye to eye and a spark shot down John's spine as he realized, finally that this man was back into his life and it was his chance before he ever left him behind again. Lips clashed together in a messy and untamed way, and a pair of hands gripped tightly onto the heightened collars which belonged to a certain taller male. Sherlock gasped surprisingly as the warmth on his lips departed and his eyes were enabled upon the short stubby man below him with a soft smile. Love was one thing that Sherlock had to data of understanding, it was practically un needed though, the unruly flutter inside his chest stated otherwise as the two continued to embrace one another.

All woebegone lifted out of him with those words and even till now the words stuck to him having their relationship change for the better. John finally understood why, just a bit. Why Sherlock actually did what he had to do. John felt peace as Sherlock's words played like a record inside his head.

"I did it all for you, John."

* * *

_Hello guys, this is in fact my first Sherlock based fan fiction but at the moment I'm in the works of a large multi-chapter Sherlock fan fiction and this was just to put up for an update._

_Woebegone is based around the idea of Post!Reichenbach, obviously. The idea of Season 3 being around the corner but yet so far brings me to my knees and makes me feeling like a drug addict needing another fix. It's really; really sad on how I act sometimes. _

_For readers of my Silent Hill fan fiction I'm extremely sorry that I haven't updated in a long time. I'm out of my Silent Hill phase right now and I really want to continue the idea. I just need to find ideas._

_I hope you enjoyed!_

_Please Review, I love them and if you do the magical Mycroft fairy comes through your window and leaves you an umbrella._

_Okemjustshutupalready._

_-II (ImparedImapala) _


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